


Crossroads

by sympathyformephisto



Category: Danny Phantom, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demisexuality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sympathyformephisto/pseuds/sympathyformephisto
Summary: Vlad receives understanding from an unexpected source.
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Vlad Masters
Kudos: 17





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been approximately seven years since I last saw _Danny Phantom_ , and I only half-heartedly watch new _SPN_ episodes after they killed my boy, so my apologies for any discrepancies. This is a “something I wanted to write but there had to be a worldwide crisis for me to lose my inhibitions and write weird crossover ships” kinda fic.

If there was any place to find eerie—and obnoxious—supernatural happenings, it was Wisconsin’s lonelier roads. Vlad Masters had traveled them well, first as a gawky teenager, and now as an accomplished billionaire. He’d detected a spike in paranormal activity near Warrens on the eve of the cranberry festival, and he’d discovered who he thought to be the culprit.

Right where the roads crossed, there was a small bar that smelled of whiskey and mothballs. Vlad wasn’t much of a drinker. He dressed down for his venture, and had driven one of his less flashy vehicles to the joint. Drinking gin when he’d be driving was perhaps not the smartest decision. Thankfully, his changed body chemistry made getting drunk very difficult, though he rarely tried.

Shortly after Vlad got his drink, a man in a suit—all black, how original—saddled up next to him. The movements were calculated—for five minutes, with his elbows on the counter, the man didn’t so much as acknowledge Vlad’s existence. But then he did, and his voice was a rasp with a distinct English accent.

“All alone tonight?” the man asked.

“Yes. In fact, I am,” Vlad replied. “Quite alone.”

And they talked.

What surprised Vlad was how well-spoken the man was. For what he suspected was happening, he didn’t expect eloquence. But then again, perhaps he was too used to dealing with some of the simpleton entities from the Ghost Zone.

Admittedly, he was new to any other bizarre occurrences, contributing most things to ectoplasmic influence and believing talks of angels and demons to be superstitious nonsense to coerce prescriptive morality into young children.

They spoke longer than Vlad intended; he was unused to talks that he hadn’t meticulously practiced, when he used extensive research to calculate every word based on what he knew about the subject. This was new ground, but he had to admit he didn’t entirely loathe it.

And then the man, who hadn’t yet named himself, started to lean in, his voice taking on a new, huskier undertone.

Vlad was no stranger to being the target of superficial admiration, not always romantic. For others, he was a gateway for their own ambitions. He knew how to play along with little genuine attachment on his part. To a point, anyway.

“Lovely night for a date,” the man had said, voice smooth. Date. It was a distant word; he hadn’t dated since he was in high school.

“Funny. I don’t recall having a date.” Eventually, Vlad asked, “Would you like to come back with me?”

The man replied, “That would be lovely.” A tacit finally, thought you’d never ask.

Their chat was pleasant enough on the way back to the mansion, and the man predictably tried to act surprised that Vlad lived in an immense mansion. It was when they went through the front door and the man tried to lean in for a kiss and Vlad stepped back, though, that things kicked in.

The man abruptly leaned back and pursed his lips. He examined the front hall.

“Firstly,” he said, “Packers memorabilia, cheeseheads, really? How tacky.”

Hands behind his back, Vlad replied, “I’ll be sure to take your aesthetic tastes into account when I redecorate.”

“Let me guess,” the man drawled, “devil’s trap. Fancy that. And here I was, expecting roses and a massage. And here, I was, going to offer you a deal.”

A deal.

A deal for...

Vlad wasn’t there with the demon. He was on his knees in the lab below his cabin. His son’s face was melting in his hand. His eyes went red, and then he’d seen black.

When he came to, he was alone, except for his son’s dissolved remains at his feet. He’d cleaned everything up, alone. And he hadn’t been to the cabin since.

Sometimes, through his hate and anguish, he did think of Danielle’s eyes when he rejected her. But he couldn’t feel sorry for her, so he let his bitterness and grief consume him. He couldn’t show remorse because then he’d grow weak, doubt himself. The last thing he needed was a paradigm shift.

Vlad knew, like always, once the melancholic limbo ended, he’d come through with a plan to get even. He hadn’t come a long way from near-death in a hospital bed for years—again, alone—only to be bettered and defeated.

Never.

“I want revenge,” Vlad said.

The demon looked vaguely annoyed. How novel, he must’ve thought. “For?”

“No need for specifics.”

“Yes.” The man shrugged. “That’s—not an especially original goal. But it can be done. I could help.”

“I doubt a demon can provide me anything I can’t get myself.”

“Darling, I’m the King of Hell. Name’s Crowley, pleased to make the acquaintance of Vlad Masters.” Crowley added, doing a once over, “Though I must say this isn’t your usual fashion. Do you prefer Masters? Vlad? Vladdie?”

Vlad was taken aback. “No, none of those.” Especially not Vladdie, though the more he went through this year, the more he felt a dissonance when hearing his own name. He was most at peace sequestered away in his lab and planning schemes he had yet to enact. “Call me Plasmius.”

Crowley looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m sorry, come again?” Vlad didn’t reply, so he added, “Well, now that we’ve established that, I suppose there won’t be any fun had tonight, if you catch my drift.”

“I’m afraid it likely won’t be as eventful as you planned.”

Crowley straightened his coat. “Then, if you don’t mind. I must really be going.”

“I was thinking of taking you to my lab. That was my plan, and with all the time I take to conceive them, I do so hate to go against them.”

“Oh, darling, how do you propose to do that?” Vlad couldn’t recall if he’d been called darling before; perhaps by his mother, long passed. “Perhaps we can make a deal.”

“You have nothing I need. Or want.”

“Nothing at all?” Crowley replied, head at a slant. “I suppose most sell their souls so they can be Vlad Masters--‘Plasmius.’ What’s with the nomenclature, anyway?”

Vlad shifted into his ghost form. Dramatically, he might add.

Crowley stared, as if bored.

“Not impressed?”

“I sensed something was off, a chill in the air, so to speak. Truth be told, I never would have guessed one of the most well-known men in our time was a ghost. Or that he could be corporeal, flesh-and-blood.”

Vlad said, “Half-ghost.”

“Doesn’t exactly sound like poetry.”

***

As inane as it sounded, it was the start of an unusual friendship. It was rare Vlad spoke to someone as ambitious as himself.

“You have a personalized tea set, adorable,” said Crowley.

“Why, thank you,” Vlad replied dryly. “How kind of you to grant your approval.”

“I cannot say the same for the rest of the place.”

“I’ll have you know I hired the best interior designers.” His home wasn’t supposed to exude “adorable” anyway. It was partially Green Bay Packers with the rest being intimidating.

Crowley waved a hand. “Although I prefer the purple here to the green and gold. Doesn’t quite make a good first impression.”

“And yet, my demon friend, here you are.”

“Touché, Lugosi.”

As they sat together, Crowley gave him what information he cared to relay about demons and Hell. Vlad told him about ghosts, though Crowley didn’t seem especially interested in it, as the ghosts as entities didn’t seem to have “souls” in the metaphysical senses. Many were more like demons, souls that had altered after death, and others were masses of ectoplasm.

When Vlad thought about it, he wondered what the demon was trying to glean from him.

“Do I have a soul?” Vlad asked. He’d never believed in such.

“In a manner of speaking.” Crowley idly stirred his tea with a spoon. “So. You haven’t elaborated on how you plan to exact revenge. I imagine the enemy must be immense for a man of your stature.”

“I’m going to run for mayor in the town where those who hurt me live. I’m going to make every person who goes to the ballot vote for me, whether they want to or not.”

A pause.

“And then?” Crowley replied.

Oh, cookie crumbs. Vlad hadn’t gotten that far.

At first, once he decided he was through with chasing Maddie and pathetically begging Daniel to be his son—done with being humiliated for wanting something he needed, deserved—

Crowley snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts by stating, “I could help, you know.”

“I know. For a cost.”

“Of course.”

“Luckily for me,” Vlad replied with an enigmatic grin, “I don’t need help.”

***

“Ah,” Vlad said, leaning back in his plush desk chair. “My friend, the scents of fleur de parfum and sulfur give you away.”

His blood was still pumping from when Daniel had come in, and Vlad had shouted at him and called security, leaving the boy to fly away in his ghost form. It had rattled him in a way he found demeaning.

He grew too aware that Crowley must’ve seen the path of blood running through his veins.

“Impressive,” Crowley said, making a point to move his head to inspect Vlad’s mayoral office. “But a shame.”

Vlad arched a brow. “Shame? Do please elaborate.”

“It’s so, ah, what’s the word? Small. Don’t you ever think of expanding your horizons a tad?”

“Do elaborate.”

“All right.” Crowley held up a hand. “Consider this: You’re a virgin.”

That startled Vlad. He didn’t like the feeling that someone was able to discern facts about himself he never revealed. It was his job to pilfer and hoard others’ secrets. “I’m unsure why you presume that, but I won’t chance a guess.”

He supposed he felt attraction every now and again, but it seemed to only come when he was intensely connected to someone else, and he hadn’t felt that with anyone but Maddie. Before college, some adolescent crushes came and went, but nothing substantive.

So, with anyone else, he didn’t act on anything because there was little to act on.

Though Crowley didn’t roll his eyes, his body language had all the makings of an eyeroll. “Please, Lugosi. I’m a demon. I can smell it on you.” At Vlad’s look, Crowley said, “What, more of a Lee fan?”

Vlad said dryly, “I’ll be sure to write in my notes that demons have that special detection ability.” With Crowley, he appreciated, at least, that he didn’t need to keep up pretenses. As strange as it was, because they were dishonest creatures, they were most honest with one another.

“Really? You’re saving all your cards for a married woman. Money, fame, ingenuity, and you haven’t given it up.”

Vlad bristled. “I won’t linger on that topic. It doesn’t matter to my present concerns, anyhow.”

“Makes you a good option for any sacrificial rituals, that does. A shame.” Crowley set some of his fingers on the desk edge. “The night we met, I was looking forward to doing something about the figurative chastity belt.” Vlad said nothing. “And what are these present concerns?”

Vlad steepled his fingers together. “You’re wrong. I have given up.”

“Forgive me, but somehow I must have misinterpreted you being the bloody mayor of the town where your archnemesis, who is apparently a teenager, as you keeping the revenge going.”

Vlad kept his expression cool. “You’ve been watching closely.”

“I have eyes, and darling, you aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Please. If I weren’t subtle, I wouldn’t be where I am. From nothing to here.”

“I suppose I can relate. So, what are you planning to do, to woo Maddie with the prestige of this office? Her husband seems more smitten with you than her.”

“I don’t want her anymore.”

Crowley didn’t look convinced. “Then, what do you want?”

Love.

But that was pathetic. Crowley wouldn’t understand. And he’d given up on love, truly this time, as a matter of fact.

Hands steepled, Crowley said, “With your money and power, you could control the world. Run for president. Create a second Roman Empire.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Why not?” Crowley set his knuckles under his chin. “Aren’t you tired of running?”

Vlad regarded him shrewdly. “How am I running?”

“Aren’t you tired of always having to chase something new, something more, and coming up empty?”

“When you run Hell, is it to your liking? If it were, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Once, I was a miserable drunk who beat my kid and loathed myself. Back in my day, you had good blood, or you were out of luck. I came from nothing. Now, I control a kingdom.”

“How does it make you feel?” Vlad asked.

They lapsed into silence.

***

One early morning, Crowley just appeared in his bedroom. Before Vlad fully saw him, he knew something was wrong.

For one, Crowley was dressed differently, in a black dress shirt, haphazardly buttoned. When he appeared, he stumbled. When he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and had the sheen of olives. The pale morning sun blanched his face, which was coated with sweat, maybe tears.

Vlad was sitting on the edge of his bed; he’d just put his violet robe on.

“Rough night,” Crowley explained, unblinking, pupils dilated.

Standing, Vlad said, “Butter biscuits--”

Crowley released a pitiful laugh. He was swaying a little. “You’re always so cute when you do your confection expletives.”

“You didn’t come here for flattery. What is it?”

“Business as always, Lugosi. Never, never any time for...”

“You’re drunk, and you came here,” Vlad said. His hands curled into fists. He’d never had anyone but himself in this room. He never even allowed a maid to come in to clean. This was his space.

“That’s a word for it. I’m afraid I’ve found myself addicted to something.”

“And what is this ‘something’, then?” Vlad asked.

“Blood.”

Vlad gave a start. Hemophagia wasn’t something he’d discovered demons did. Crowley certainly never mentioned it, even in gest. “Blood? Whose? What’s?” Though Crowley wasn’t drenched in blood, Vlad did detect the faint scent.

“Human’s. Funny, isn’t it? You’re the one who looks like a vampire, and I’m the unholy blood-drinker.” Vlad’s mask must’ve slipped because Crowley scoffed. “Oh no, don’t worry your pretty little head, darling. Your blood isn’t pure enough.”

“Define ‘pure’,” Vlad replied, stepping closer to Crowley, who’d started to shake. And here he thought his “virginal” blood would be the only pure thing about him.

“Not coated in ectoplasm.” At least Crowley had retained some of his dryness.

Vlad reached out. “Let me get you to the lab. Perhaps some tests will reveal--”

Crowley pulled away. “No need to bring out the needles. I know what’s wrong. I have a blood addiction.”

“And what can be done about it?”

When Crowley stared at him, he looked lost. Vlad knew that look; he saw it often in his reflection when he stood before the hospital bathroom mirror.

Crowley crumpled to the floor, knees to his chest, palms on the carpet. And started to cry. “There’s no point in anything. no point in existing. I have no one. I am no one. I hope this kills me.”

A gentle, compassionate soul, Vlad was not. Even before the incident that ruined his life, he was easily irritated and resentful. He could carry a grudge for someone saying the slightest wrong word in the wrong tone.

Crowley started saying, “I remember I was tied to this chair—long story. And I was being fed human blood, injected in my veins like heroin. And I broke down. A sob-fest, it was really quite disgusting. Repulsive. And I started talking, I couldn’t stop, I had to. It was the only thing keeping me sane, trying to reach out. Saying...how I deserved to be loved.

“And—and in that moment, I wanted forgiveness for the lives I took, the souls I damned, but I don’t...I didn’t know how to be loved, or to love. And I didn’t know where to start to find forgiveness. I was, I am nothing, again, maybe I never stopped.”

Still surprised, Vlad was quiet for minutes as Crowley’s tears dampened his bedroom carpet. “I would’ve thought someone like you had found love. Not even with the woman you had your son with?”

A wet scoff. When Crowley stared up, the look in his dark eyes was shockingly earnest.

“Truth be told, as badly as I want it, I’m not sure I know how. I think I did love the little bugger, in the end, but it didn’t stop what happened to him. Have you ever thought to make amends, settle down as the surrogate uncle with a goddamn cactus collection and a horde of foster kittens?”

Vlad knelt with him, though at a distance of about two feet. He didn’t like this. He wanted to tell Crowley to go away, to stop being a nuisance. He was so immensely uncomfortable, his chest tensing. “I suppose, like you, I don’t know how.”

“Damn making amends. It’s for the weak.”

It seemed, as always, they were at a crossroads.

“What does it matter to you?” Vlad stiffened when Crowley came closer, but he didn’t back away. “All I’ve wanted is love, but now, I’ve seen there’s no point to try. The more I work for it, the more I’m denied.”

Crowley stared.

And lunged.

Vlad almost went into his ghost form, afraid he was being attacked, that Crowley would try to drink his blood out of sheer desperation. What he didn’t expect was Crowley to pull him into a passionate kiss. It was wet and clumsy, full of teeth.

Vlad bowed his head away. He’d given up on Maddie, but he wasn’t ready for this,

And Crowley clung to him for hours, tears soaking Vlad’s shoulder. Maybe in some of those minutes, Vlad reciprocated the embrace. He couldn’t quite remember.

***

They never spoke about the morning incident. Crowley went missing for months, and then appeared like nothing had happened. Just popped in with his usual quips.

In Vlad’s parlor, Crowley drank a glass of scotch at the table, covered with a gold-and-green cloth.

“How is your addiction?” Vlad asked.

Crowley looked vaguely annoyed. “Fixed it.”

Vlad had never had a substance addiction, but he doubted it. Beings like them were terrible at letting go.

Silence. Then: “Truth be told, there was someone, for a time. It felt like years. We’d known each other for years, but it was only months we shacked up together. He was impulsive, uncultured, but he was mine.”

“Do you miss him?” Crowley didn’t reply. “Do you want to go after him?”

“No.” Crowley continued drinking.

That was the last time he saw Crowley before the end.

***

Vlad didn’t know when he died. Or if he did.

While he was lost in space, he had to stay in his ghost form, and as he did so, his human form grew weak. The moment he changed back, he’d die. Maybe he had changed back. Mostly, he spent the time borderline comatose.

Now, he found himself in an expanse of black. He glided through it slowly and encountered no one. He thought of past conversations, of his first meeting with Daniel, of his first day of class at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Of stars dying and being born.

To his shock, he saw a figure in the mire, someone in a black suit slouched in a chair. At first, he thought they were dead, but as he got closer, they looked up.

“Hello, Lugosi.”

Vlad opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

He wanted to ask if Crowley ever found forgiveness and redemption, if he even knew what those meant for one who spent decades constructing a narrative of how they’d been wronged and funneled everything through that. Where they exploited and maligned if it was for their own self-fulfillment in the end.

All Crowley said after was, “You too?” His voice was hoarse and cracked, like he was unused to speaking. Vlad didn’t even know if he could talk anymore, so he reached out a hand.

Crowley took it, and they traveled through the blackness together.


End file.
